


twenty-six ways (to say i love you)

by NinefoxNormandy



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anxiety, Blasto Vid (Mass Effect), Destroy Ending, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Shepard Without Vakarian, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shepard lives, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 9,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinefoxNormandy/pseuds/NinefoxNormandy
Summary: After the Reaper War, Shepard and Garrus retire to the Citadel and build a life together. A series of short snapshots, one for each letter of the alphabet.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	1. Apartment

**Author's Note:**

> I started this project about two years ago to try and kick-start my love for writing again. A LOT has happened in those two years, personally and professionally, and I've ended up writing lots of other things and forgetting about more. However, it was always a joy to come back to this and keep plugging away, challenging myself to write in different ways and with different prompts. 
> 
> A few notes: my Shepard is called Allison, or Allie for short. She largely looks like the default option, albeit probably a bit more scarred following the endgame events. There is one chapter featuring panic attacks, which will be noted at the start of the chapter.

They were going to need a place to live when Shepard was clear to leave the hospital. One afternoon, when he was sitting by her bedside, they decided that the Citadel was home and that was that. So he’d enlisted Liara’s help to find them a place in one of the newly reconstructed wards. Nothing too showy, of course – Shepard may have been the galaxy’s saviour, but she didn’t care much for grandeur. She just wanted somewhere nice and cosy, with a home office, and not too far away from the shooting range.

When she was finally allowed out, he was ready and waiting on the dot to take her home. She kept asking questions at every corner, desperate to find out where they were going. “It’s a surprise, Shepard,” he’d told her. He was nervous. Even more nervous than he’d been on his first night in basic. He just wanted her to be happy – it was all she deserved.

They pulled up at the apartment, and despite her injuries, she refused to let him lift her out of the skycar. He offered her a hand instead. They took every step slowly, Garrus supporting her all the way. _Just like old times._

He opened the door and carefully led Shepard in to the lounge. All of the furniture was set up and ready – he would have to remember to thank Steve and Jimmy with some bottles of tequila for that – so all that was left was for the two of them to get settled in and make it a home.

“So Allie, what do you think?” he said, gesturing awkwardly around at the room before them.

“Garrus…” she gasped, clutching his arm tighter and looking up at him with those big brown eyes, wide and teary – only the second time he’d ever seen her cry. “It’s _ours_ ,” she said, not even trying to hold back the tears. “It’s perfect.”


	2. Bath

Shepard had only had a few requests for their new apartment. One of those was that it had a bath. Given the fact that she probably wouldn’t be particularly mobile for a while, Garrus thought that was a fairly sensible idea. At least, until he learned more about human bathing rituals.

The bathroom ended up fit to burst with bottles of strange coloured liquid – all with different scents – candles, cleansing items and even the odd wine glass. Shepard could be in there for _hours_. The first time she had a bath in their new place, he thought she’d only take 20 minutes or so. After the first hour, he was concerned. After the second, he dashed upstairs and barrelled into the bathroom to make sure she hadn’t drowned, only to find her surrounded by bubbles reading a datapad titled _Pride, Prejudice and Blasto_. “Garrus? Everything okay?” she said, a wry smile dancing across her lips.

“Yep, everything totally fine, just… checking you hadn’t died… again. I guess I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbled, feeling embarrassed, and trotted back down the stairs to finish cleaning his sniper rifle.

“You can join in if you like!” she yelled in response. “Or bring me more wine!”

He gave in to the cries for wine. He refused to jump in the tub with her. Sitting and stewing in a pool of water for hours… there were still some things he really didn’t understand about humans. 


	3. Curves

He absentmindedly traces the curve of her hip as she sleeps. Despite everything, he still marvels at how different her body is to his. What was hard muscle throughout the war has become softer flesh, dotted with scars, and he delights in how it feels against him in the afterglow. Even then, her figure had always been composed of gentle lines and delicate curves. It shouldn’t feel so natural next to his hard angles and impenetrable plates, but it does, and he thanks the spirits for guiding him to her side. 

In her slumber, she pushes back against him for warmth. He wraps an arm around her, holding her as tight as he can without waking her, burying his face in her long, red hair and breathing in her undeniable scent. _Lavender,_ she had called it, an Earth plant that now grows in the window box of their balcony – a little piece of her heritage that now thrives within their home.

She starts to stir, but he soothes her back to sleep with a quiet trill of his subharmonics. If anyone has earned sleep, it’s Shepard. He used to wonder how humans had survived for so long, with their squishyness and devil-may-care attitude, but when your girlfriend cheats death _twice,_ it all starts to become a little clearer. He finally closes his eyes, but not before taking in the sight of the great Commander Shepard, scars and all, completely naked within his arms. There’s no sight more beautiful in the entire galaxy.


	4. Death

It still haunts her at every corner. She has technically died twice, after all. Miraculously, she made it back, crawling through the depths of darkness to find her way home. The first time, at the hands of Cerberus, they called it the Lazarus Project, and those on Earth certainly took that to heart. The human saint Lazarus of Bethany, said to have risen from his grave at the hands of Jesus, was an easy comparison to make. In the new, post-Reaper War history of their people, human scholars have already written it so: _Shepard, saviour of the galaxy, who rose from the remnants of the Citadel four days after the Crucible had fired and saved us all._

Her worshippers and her enemies alike thought that death was an inconvenience for Shepard, but they couldn’t be more wrong. They thought that she went without fear each time, but fear was all she felt. As the darkness encroached upon her soul, the only thing she knew was terror at the fact that she may never feel their love again. _Her crew, her mother, her heart._

Her dreams haven’t been safe for a long time, but they are starting to ease with each embrace. Each soft trill in her ear as she lies in the dark, enveloped by soft sheets and rough plates, reminds her that she is a survivor. She has never sought death, even as an N7, but in the aftermath, she makes a secret promise each night to dedicate the next day to living.


	5. Elegant

Garrus could think of many ways to describe Shepard. On the battlefield, she was a force of nature, an instrument of war, something fierce, indomitable and unyielding. With her crew, she was a figure of inspiration, a shoulder to cry on, a friend and a compatriot. In the bedroom, she was a siren, a temptress, and downright _sexy._

The one thing that Garrus had never been able to describe Shepard as, was elegant.

As he approached their office with a fresh cup of coffee for her, he heard yelling. Since surviving _again_ , Shepard had little patience for bullshit, and boy, did it show. “With all due respect, Admiral, if there are still salarians out there who _don’t_ think we should have cured the greatest travesty they ever bestowed upon the krogan race, then I will quite happily introduce their ass to my boot and tell them to get the fuck off back to Sur’Kesh!”

Garrus approached her desk slowly, placing the coffee down as quietly as possible. On the vid screen, he could see Admiral Hackett rubbing his forehead, a heavy sigh escaping him. “Shepard, I don’t want to start a galactic incident here, but could you please just watch out for any particular tensions that may cause trouble for the Council?”

“Fine, fine, I won’t stick my foot up anyone’s ass,” Shepard sighed, waving her hands resignedly.

“I’ll hold you to that, Shepard. Hackett out.”

The vid screen disappeared, and Garrus put an arm around Shepard’s shoulder, stroking her arm softly. “Now, am I going to have to be on stress relief duty tonight?” he drawled.

Shepard leaned into his touch, soaking in the warmth from his body. “If you mean fuck me until my legs turn to jelly, then yeah, that sounds about right.”

There were many ways one could describe Commander Shepard. Elegant was still not one of them.


	6. Fair

The very second Shepard could hold a gun without feeling like her arm was going to drop off, she was determined to head down to the Spectre shooting range. Still feeling apprehensive at putting her in any kind of vague danger whatsoever — a stray bullet at the range, a stampeding krogan mother at the shopping mall, too many stairs — Garrus found a compromise.

“There’s a… fair, on the Citadel?” Shepard said, wrinkling her nose.

“That’s right, and you know who the best shot on the Citadel is?” Garrus replied, looking up the details on his omni-tool.

“It’s me. You know I threw the contest that time on the Presidium.”

Garrus sighed, taking a sip of his half-cold kava. “No, the best shot on the Citadel is me — right now, at least. So I’m going to win at everything.” Shepard pouted at him and his brow plate quirked up in amusement. “Unless you can prove me wrong and win me a cuddly elcor Hamlet?”

Shepard grinned, a dangerous glint in her good eye. “You’re on, Vakarian. You are _so_ on.”

They arrived at the fair shortly thereafter, eager to test their mettle against the attractions. Garrus headed straight for the rifle range boasting Blasto toys as its top prize. He was about to put the gun to his shoulder when Shepard looked at him with a disapproving stare. “Visor off, Vakarian. No cheating.”

He shrugged, pulled the visor off and passed it to her for safe keeping. Then he shot down every target in quick succession. The asari attendant graciously handed him a Blasto. “You broke our all-time record, General Vakarian! Congratulations!” she smiled, pointing up at the scoreboard.

Garrus nodded coolly, accepting his prize, but he could tell she noticed the cocksure jaunt in his walk. “Okay, Garrus. You did good. But it’s my turn now, and I know exactly how I’m going to win this.”

She dragged him towards a human stand, but Garrus couldn’t work out what the attraction was. It _did_ have elcor Hamlets, with ruffed necks and all, but the only things there were a bunch of staggered wooden poles. “There’s nothing to shoot here, Shep,” he said, looking suspiciously at the booth.

“No, there isn’t. This is hoopla. You throw the little rings and try and get them around the poles. I’m going to ace it,” she replied triumphantly. The attendant handed her the rings and she lined up her target. Sure enough, with a flick of the wrist, the first ring landed true. She went for the next one, tongue poking out with concentration, and watched it tumble down the pole.

She was slow, but methodical, and hit every single one — except for the last, just missing the mark by a fraction. It was still prizeworthy, so she collected her toy, said a muted thank you, and stalked off to the food court without a word, leaving Garrus to dash after her. When he finally caught up with her, she was sat clutching a huge, multi-coloured slushie, elcor plush on her lap, staring at the floor in front of her. “I was wondering where you were taking my prize off to,” he said softly, putting Blasto down to raise a comforting hand to her shoulder. “Do you think they do dextro versions of those slushies?”

“I’m not the same as I was, Garrus,” she said, and he felt her muscles tense under his talons. “I saved the fucking galaxy and I can’t even win at a kid’s game. How am I going to get back into active service?” She looked up at him, her face drawn and tired. “I don’t want to get stuck on desk duty for the rest of my life. I won’t do it.”

He sat down beside her and pulled her into him. “Allie, honey,” he said, stroking her arm. “Everything takes time. And I’ll be here to support you, no matter what. There’s no Shepard without Vakarian, right?” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers, feeling her shaky breath on his neck. “So hang in there. We’ll start the _real_ training tomorrow.”

“Spectre range?”

“Spectre range.” He loosened his grip on her and pulled the toy from her lap. “Confused: to be or not to be, that is the question,” he said in perfect monotone, holding it in front of his face.

“You’re such a fucking dork, Garrus.” She pushed the toy aside and kissed his mandible with the ghost of a smile. “But hey, at least I won one, right!”


	7. Games

On difficult days, they try to distract each other with games.

One afternoon, when Shepard starts staring off into the distance with that hollow look in her eyes, Garrus drags her out of the apartment and over to the recently reopened Apollo’s Cafe. He gets her a big coffee, black and bitter, and something more comforting for himself. They sit down, and he starts to explain the rules.

“Here’s one from my C-Sec days. We used to play this all the time on quiet nights.” He takes a sip of his tea and leans in conspiratorially like they’re spies discussing intelligence in a vid. “Shit Celebrities is the name of the game. Watch the crowd and pick out someone who looks vaguely like a celebrity. An actor, a model, a singer… whatever.” He points at the hanar floating over by the balcony. “That’s shit Blasto.”

Shepard gasps, puts her hand to her mouth in fake shock. “You can’t say that! Oh, no, wait…” She glances over again. “No, you’re right! They have almost the same peaks as Blasto does!”

“Told you, Shepard. Your turn.”

She scans the court, which is surprisingly bustling for the time of day, and picks a turian a few tables over. “Shit Bellicus over there,” she says with a subtle tilt of her head.

Garrus turns around casually to look before spinning back to Shepard in excitement. “No, that _is_ the turian that played Bellicus. Do you think he’d mind if I asked for a photo? He’s not gonna mind, I’m gonna go do it. Tali is going to _hate_ me!”

He dashes out of his seat to say hello, and all the while, Shepard can’t stop laughing. “God, I can’t believe I’m living with such a fanboy…” As Garrus gets his omni-tool ready for a selfie with the poor actor, the game all but abandoned, she rolls the coffee cup gently between her palms and feels the warmth calming her. She takes a deep breath and looks around the room, at all the life surrounding her, and she knows that she made the right choice, even if it didn’t always seem like it.

And when Garrus returns to their table, gushing about how nice the actor who plays Bellicus is, she knows that this is really one of the good days, but, as long as he’s with her through the bad ones, she’ll always make it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 100% inspired by a game we play at work. I thoroughly recommend you try Shit Celebrities.


	8. Heart

Garrus was down the range, practising with a gun other than his beloved Mantis – after all, you never know when a pistol might come in handy – when a message from Shepard came through on his omni-tool. _Hey sweetie, can you pick up some coffee on your way home later? Love you! <3 _

The first part of the message made perfect sense, but why did ‘love you!’ equal less than three? The word ‘love’ has four letters, and while the word ‘you’ has three, the exclamation mark appended to the end of the sentence made for a total of four characters – eight if you counted the whole sentence. Garrus put the pistol back on the rack, gathered his things, then glanced back down at the message. Nope, it still didn’t make sense.

“Try turning your head sideways, to the right, Vakarian.” Garrus turned to see Kaidan standing behind him, a little too close for comfort. “You’ve been standing there staring for about five minutes now, I thought I’d better take pity on you,” Kaidan laughed, selecting his weapon from the rack. “Do you get it?”

Garrus tilted his head, but he still couldn’t fathom the shape. Was it a strange representation of Shepard herself? He supposed the three, when aligned in such a way, could potentially look like breasts, whereas the less than sign could represent the rest of her torso …

“It’s a heart, Garrus. Very popular human emoticon,” Kaidan sighed, patting Garrus on the shoulder. “If you need help figuring out any more Shepard textspeak, just ask. Her emails on the Normandy were always… interesting. I’m surprised you haven’t come across this before, actually.” He shook his head and started sauntering off towards the range. “See you around, big guy!”

Garrus tapped a quick reply back, and went straight in the direction of the store. _No problem, honey. Kaidan says hi, by the way. Love you too <3_


	9. Icebreakers

“God, I hate parties like this,” Shepard muttered, glaring at her reflection in the Atrium’s manmade lake. She straightened her dress blues, grabbed a glass of something that looked alcoholic from a nearby waiter, and plastered the smile that was reserved for intergalactic dignitaries on her face. To make matters worse, Garrus had been held up on an important vidcall with his father, and the rest of the surviving members of the Normandy were either off-world or not invited, so she didn’t have anyone to hide in the corner with. 

“You know, Shepard, it’s not all that bad…” She turned to see Primarch Victus, clutching his own glass of something bubbly. “The trick is finding an icebreaker, something to get the conversation going. Or, so they tell me.” He downed the glass in one, then picked up another one from a waiter with a dextro-labelled tray. “I find booze is an excellent one.”

Garrus eventually found the two of them sitting with their feet dangling in the lake, chatting animatedly about the virtues of disruptor ammo. He picked up a couple of drinks, made short work of them, and jumped right in with them.


	10. Jinxed

Despite the fact that the galaxy as they know it is still alive, well and free of bio-mechanical influence, there are days when Shepard feels as if they never really won at all. 

Flipping through a photo archive, she sighs heavily as she reaches slides of Mordin in his lab, when he’d been happily experimenting, humming away to himself as he lost himself in research. Looking forward, there’s one of Anderson, standing proud next to Shepard as she was announced the first human Spectre. Ashley, too, laughing at one of Kaidan’s stupid jokes just days before she’d end up dead on Virmire. Thane, sitting pensively on the Normandy. Legion, listening intently to whatever EDI had to say.

Sometimes, Shepard thinks she’s jinxed. Good people died under her care. Good people, who could have given so much more if they’d never come near her. So many more were left battered, bruised, scarred and disfigured. If she could, she’d have taken on the whole universe herself. Deep down, she realises she’s no better than the Collectors, bringing people together and then using them to her own ends. 

Garrus takes the archive from her gently, and puts it back on the mantelpiece. He sets the frame to remain static on a photo of the two of them, taken by Tali at their housewarming party. Wordlessly, he gathers her in his arms and lets her weep. 

Shepard may think she’s a curse, but Garrus has never seen her as anything but a blessing.


	11. Kiss

“Our first kiss wasn’t before the suicide mission on the Normandy, honey,” Shepard said with a wry smile. “It was after we all survived, and after we had a round of shots with the crew, we went back up to my quarters and, y’know… finally figured out what to do with all that reach and flexibility.”

Garrus snorted into his drink. “No, sweetie, it was _definitely_ before. Remember, I brought up that bottle of wine that we didn’t drink, and we kind of just held each other for a while before going off to face our potentially horrible deaths…” He took a sip. “And crucially, we kissed.”

Tali spit out her straw and looked pointedly at them both. “Are you seriously arguing over turian and human versions of kisses? Keelah…” she whined, resting her head on the table. “Both are valid, they’re both first kisses, now be quiet and get me more cocktails!” She slurped the rest of her drink noisily before handing the glass over to Shepard. “To the bar, Shepard!”

Shepard rose from her seat and motioned for Garrus to follow. They headed over to the bar and put their order in. “It doesn’t really matter when or what our first kiss was, you know,” she said, reaching for Garrus’ hand. “What matters is how many we have ahead of us, and I’m really hoping it’s a lot.” She brought it to her lips and placed a soft kiss to each talon. “Especially tonight. I think I owe you a _lot_ of kisses tonight.”

“Well, if that’s the case, we better get these drinks down our necks as soon as possible and get a skycar home,” Garrus purred, pulling Shepard into his arms. “I’ll do whatever it takes to further turian-human relations, of course. Now, I’m led to understand humans like to be kissed in several different places…”


	12. Lace

“Goddammit Garrus! That’s another pair destroyed!” Shepard held the scraps of her black lace panties up, frowning. “Those were _expensive_ ,” she said, pouting.

“Sweetie, it’s not my fault that human underwear is so fragile and can’t stand up to turian talons. But I’m sure you won’t complain about the end result.” Garrus made a come hither motion with his talons, beckoning her forward. “Now, I’m sure if you sit on my face, in about… oh, fifteen minutes’ time, you won’t remember they’re gone…”

She didn’t. And the next day, Shepard woke up to find that Garrus had already left for the range, but there was a black, satin box on her dresser containing a set of what promised to be ‘Turian-grade, indestructible, but still very pretty’ panties. Smirking, she put them aside for what promised to be a _very_ fun evening.


	13. Mantis

What had once been a daily ritual became more of a weekly one, but it was still a core part of Garrus’ schedule. On the dining table, his Mantis lay disassembled, and he took the time to clean and oil each part. He checked the thermal magazine well, and ensured that the barrel and muzzle were free of damage and debris. Once he was satisfied that each part was undamaged and in optimum condition, he snapped it all back into place, ready to take to the range.

Once, the Mantis had been his only companion, and his only saving grace – it had kept him alive throughout his tenure in Omega. Towards the end of his career as Archangel, his rifle was the only thing standing between him and certain doom. At least, until Shepard had arrived. Later, it had saved his skin plenty of times, but most importantly, he had used it to protect Shepard from the worst the Collectors, and the Reapers, could throw at them.

Although he prayed to the spirits that he’d never have to use the Mantis in that capacity again, he kept his skills sharp and his rifle well-oiled and ready for action. After all, he’d do anything to keep Shepard safe.


	14. Nightmares

It wasn’t that nightmares weren’t a common occurence in the Shepard/Vakarian household, but they rarely affected both of them in a single night. Garrus awoke in a cold sweat, his chest heaving, and turned to his right to reassure himself that Shepard was safe and sound. Her side of the bed lay empty, the sheets rumpled as if she’d got up in a hurry. Garrus sighed, pushed the sheets back, and trudged towards the kitchen, where Shepard sat cradling a mug of coffee, staring blankly towards the extractor hood above the cooker.

“Bad dreams, sweetie?” Garrus said, heading over to the cupboard where the hot drinks lived. Shepard simply nodded and took a sip of her coffee. Garrus raked his talons anxiously over his crest – a very human gesture he’d picked up over the years – and turned the kettle on before reaching for a canister labelled ‘DEXTRO-FRIENDLY COCOA– SHEPARD, DON’T YOU DARE DRINK THIS’ and dumping a few spoonfuls in the closest mug. He waited for the water to boil, tapping on the counter.

“I was at the Crucible again.”

Garrus turned to face Shepard, but she stared resolutely ahead. A single tear fell down her right cheek. She took a deep breath before continuing. “I keep dreaming about it, you know? I keep wondering if I made the right choice. We lost good people – EDI, Legion, all of the Geth…” She breathed shakily, clutching her mug tightly. “Maybe I should have merged us all after all.”

The kettle clicked off, left ignored as Garrus put his arms around Shepard, leaning his head on her shoulder. “If you’d have done that, I’d have never got you back. So I’m grateful you didn’t,” he said, kissing Shepard’s neck gently. “I couldn’t do this without you. I… I dreamt you didn’t make it back, and I woke up thinking that I was part of a universe that didn’t have you in it and…”

“It doesn’t bear thinking about, I know,” Shepard said quietly, raising a hand to grasp his talons. “I know, Gare. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t haunt me. But I’m glad I’m here, most of the time.”

Garrus held her tightly, his subharmonics trilling mournfully. “Whatever burden you carry, you know that I will carry it with you,” he said slowly and carefully. “There’s no Shepard without Vakarian, after all.”

Shepard nodded, and shuffled in her stool to face him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she let him carry her back to the bedroom. He laid her down gently, pulled the blankets carefully back up, before sliding into bed and pulling her into his arms. “No more tears, and no more nightmares – not tonight, anyway,” he said, before closing his eyes and embracing the deep pull of sleep.


	15. Orange

“That’s… nice?”

Garrus tried to align his facial expression into something neutral as Shepard glared at him, her hands gathering up folds upon folds of orange taffeta. “I mean, it’s certainly going to make Tali look amazing,” he said, holding back a snigger.

Shepard whined, dumping the skirt of her dress back down inelegantly before slumping onto the sofa. “Seriously, why did she have to choose these hideous bridesmaid dresses? Is it because I showed her all those old Earth comedies about weddings?” She pouted and grasped at the voluminous material. “You get to show up in your armour, you bastard!”

“I’m General Vakarian, that’s why,” Garrus said, sticking his tongue out. “Clearly, it’s solidarity with fellow dextro-based beings.” He cast his eye over Shepard, starting from the bottom up: the skirt was similar to the petticoats Garrus had seen on ancient Earth vids Shepard had showed him, before going into a satiny orange bodice. The dress had no shoulder straps, but had a bardot-style neckline, with two bands around Shepard’s upper arms. While Garrus maintained that Shepard looked beautiful in anything, this was certainly not the most flattering thing she’d ever worn. 

“I guess there’s one comfort,” Shepard said, raising a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Liara’s going to look even worse in this,” she grinned.


	16. Poker

Since they moved into their apartment in the Citadel, Shepard and Garrus hosted a poker night once a month for any former Normandy crew members who fancied coming along. They never played for anything serious, but it was a good opportunity for everyone who was in Citadel space to catch up, and usually resulted in some serious drinking. 

This time, they had a decent table – Liara,Vega and Cortez all made an appearance. It was getting to the last game of the evening, and the stakes were about as high as they usually got – Garrus had opted out in favour of making drinks, but Shepard had thrown in some gun maintenance, Vega put a bottle of tequila in, and Cortez was offering 10% off new stock. Liara held her cards close, a wry smile slowly spreading across her face. “I’ll raise you… one secret. The current exact shooting location of the new Blasto vid.”

Vega scoffed. “That’s ridiculous, we all know they’re currently filming on Illium right now.”

Leaning across the table, Liara raised her brows and smirked. “That’s what they want you to think. Do you truly believe that I don’t know the real location?”

“Alright, you’re on, Liara. I’m calling it. Three of a kind, read it and weep!” Vega whooped, tossing his cards down onto the table. Shepard groaned, throwing her cards in front of her – a pair wasn’t going to win anything. 

Cortez laid his cards down carefully. “A straight. That beats you, Vega. Come on Liara, what do you got?” 

Liara sighed, before revealing a royal flush and pulling her omni-tool up. “Okay, so that’s one round of pistol maintenance from Shepard, 10% off your new stock, Cortez, and one bottle of tequila – hand it over, Vega.” Liara beckoned, and Vega passed the bottle over, letting loose a string of Spanish curses. “I’ll give you this one for free – they’re actually filming here in the Citadel right now, down in Zakera Ward,” Liara said, grinning. “Want to head over there?”


	17. Queasy

The Shepard-Vakarian poker nights were usually the highlight of the month, but the morning after each poker night was always a bit difficult. Especially when the apartment only had one bathroom. After the game had finished, they’d piled into Cortez’ skycar to go and watch the new Blasto vid being filmed, and had somehow ended up in Dark Star Lounge until the early hours of the morning. Shepard had a very, _very_ fuzzy recollection of how they’d gotten home, but said recollection had quickly vanished from her mind and been replaced with the need to urgently throw her guts up.

Running to the bathroom, she collided straight into Garrus, who had been stumbling out. He picked her up, gave her a high-five, and staggered over to the sofa, where he lay clutching his stomach and staring at the ceiling.

“Allie, I feel… queasy,” he said, trying not to pay attention to the sounds coming from the bathroom. “Can we try and stay away from the… what was it? Tasted kinda minty.”

“Crème de menthe,” Shepard groaned, flopping down on the sofa next to him. “Turns out they do make a turian version after all.” She patted Garrus’ thigh gently, before shifting herself around to lay her head on his lap. “Wait, did we go and watch them filming Blasto last night? Did I make a fool of myself in front of Blasto?”

The ceiling was starting to spin, so Garrus closed his eyes and tried to remember. He conjured up a hazy image of Shepard shouting encouragement from a balcony while the hanar playing Blasto was taking down his latest foe with a variety of stunt pistols. “Well, it can’t be as bad as that time that you and Javik attempted to take part in _Blasto 7: Blasto Goes to War_ , I guess?” Shepard made an awkward squeak and buried her face further into Garrus’ lap. He stroked her hair as soothingly as he could in his hungover state, and concentrated on keeping the remaining contents of his stomach where they belonged.


	18. Reach

“Ugh.” Shepard sank back down onto her heels. The tub for the freshly baked cookies was not coming down off that top shelf. “Honey, can you get this for me?” she called out, resigning herself to a fate of warm, crumbly cookies with no home… except her mouth. Maybe being short wasn’t actually as bad as she thought. 

Her knight in navy armour, Garrus, strode into the kitchen. Shepard pointed up and he lifted the tub down with ease, putting it onto the counter for her. “Remember when the whole reach and flexibility thing had sexy applications rather than domestic?” Garrus sighed. He gestured to the cookies and Shepard put her hand up, mouth full, before the timer on her omni-tool pinged and she reached into the oven, pulling out a new tray of dextro cookies. 

“Carefu’, they’re ho’, Gare,” Shepard said around a mouthful of chocolatey chip goodness. She swallowed and pointed to a different tub, sitting on the top shelf. “Can you get that one down too for when these cool down?” Garrus rolled his eyes, but obliged, before shoving a handful of cookies into his mouth. “And yeah, I remember, big guy… but I also think it’s pretty hot that you can reach all the top shelves,” she said with a wink, before swooning against Garrus’ side, raising her arm to her head like a damsel in distress. “Oh, Garrus! What’s a poor girl to do without her cookie tubs? You’re a big, goddamn hero. Take me to bed, you handsome stud,” she moaned. Garrus gulped down his cookies and picked Shepard up like she weighed nothing at all. “Anything for a pretty girl like you,” he growled, and took to the stairs two at a time.


	19. Sunrise

Garrus sighed and pushed himself out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. “Do I have time for a shower?” he called out. Shepard poked her head around the door, shaking her head with an emphatic “nuh-uh. You can have one after!” before bounding down the stairs. Grumbling, Garrus picked up his sonic toothbrush and went about the quickest hygiene ritual possible, before pulling his customary armour on and stumbled down to the living room. 

When he got there, Shepard had his Mantis out of its case and leaning up against the wall near the door. She was dressed in full N7 gear, her trusty Avenger on her back. “Car’s ready, soldier — ready to go?” she said. Garrus nodded, picking up his gun and slotting it into place. He followed Shepard out to the skycar. She slid into the driver’s seat and keyed in a location, then strapped herself in. Garrus followed suit. As they drove, he realised that the simulated sunrise hadn’t actually happened yet — it was still dark out, although the horizon had started to take on a hazy quality. 

The car sped through the Citadel sky before eventually touching down above the Presidium. Garrus got out of the car and realised that they’d landed at their special spot. Bottles were already set up for a mock shooting range, along with a couple of folding chairs and a cooler. “What’s the play, Shepard?” he said, a bemused expression dancing across his lips. 

“Well, I don’t know if you checked your omni-tool lately, but today’s a very special date,” Shepard grinned. “It’s a year to the day since you took me here, before it all went to shit, and then after that, we became the galaxy’s biggest heroes. I mean, you did most of the hard work, I just took all the glory.” She unhooked her rifle from its slot, gesturing to the bottles. “So, I thought we could shoot the shit while the sun rises.” Her eyes shone brightly, tears threatening to escape despite her bright and breezy words. 

Garrus’ posture immediately softened and he smiled fondly, before picking up his rifle and pointing it at the bottles. “Alright, Commander — best three out of five?”


	20. Tattoos

They’d talked about Garrus’ markings before. Shepard would have proudly worn them if Garrus had asked her to, but the whole other species joining a turian clan thing — even the revered Commander Shepard — was still likely going to be a few years off. She’d painted the markings on a few times in the house when Garrus was out, the deep blue a stark contrast against her pale skin and red hair. Staring wistfully into the mirror one day, she knew she wanted some kind of reminder of Garrus to carry with her everywhere. “No Shepard without Vakarian, after all,” she mumbled, before grabbing the makeup remover and wiping them off. 

A week later, she found herself wandering the shopping district of the Citadel. Half of the stores were still empty, but many businesses had managed to regain their foothold and a few new ones had managed to pop up in between. In the middle of Nos Astra Sporting Goods and Kanala Exports, a small storefront with blacked out windows and a buzzing neon sign reading ‘Kesedra’s’ had sprung up, promising tattoos, piercings and other body modifications. Shepard tentatively opened the door. “Hi, anyone home?”

“Commander Shepard, in MY tattoo parlour? Apparently it’s more likely than you think!” A boisterous asari with a purple complexion, several lip piercings and arms covered in ink strode forward and grabbed Shepard’s hand. “It is an honour to have you here, truly. Please, take a seat! What can I do for you?”

Shepard sank back into a soft leather sofa, taking in the surroundings. Art was plastered on almost every surface, from flash sheets on the walls to coffee-table books strewn tastefully around the reception area. “I’ve never thought about tattoos before. I don’t even have the obligatory N7 that most of us get when we get promoted. But I…” She stalled, taking a breath. “My partner and I… he’s a turian, but I can’t be part of his clan, at least not yet. And that means I can’t wear the markings. But I wanted something of his, something small, that means he’s with me all the time. Do you get what I mean?”

Kesedra nodded, smiling gently. “I know. I’ve been there throughout the centuries. Luckily, tattoos aren’t the ol’ stick and poke any more, so they’re a bit easier to cover up and change.” She stood up, strolling over to the reception desk and picking up a data pad with a stylus. “Now, said turian happens to be one General Garrus Vakarian, right? Or, the vigilante formerly known as Archangel…” she said, sketching away, the tip of her tongue poking out. “So, what about this?” She flipped the data pad around to show a sketch of Garrus’ Archangel insignia, but instead of its usual gold, it was made up of a blue and black hue, more akin to his clan markings. “On the house, as thanks for your service.”

Shepard took the data pad and traced over the design with her fingers. “I’m more than happy to pay, but yeah… this is the one. Thank you,” she said, smiling, and handed the data pad back. “Can you do it on my left wrist?”

“Easy peasy,” Kesedra grinned. “Now sit down, and I’ll prime up the pen.” She directed Shepard to the tattooing station, made sure she was comfortable, and tapped away at the data pad until it made a ping. The asari put the pad down and cleaned off Shepard’s wrist, then picked up what looked like a bigger version of the data pad stylus. “Now, this will sting a little bit, but it’ll be done in no time.” She turned the pen on and holding it close to the skin, began tracing left and right until a light began to shine from the tip, creating the design on Shepard’s skin just like the sketch. “And done!” she said, turning the pen off and grabbing a salve. “It should be healed in a few days – put this on a few times a day to ease any irritation, but that’s it!”

Shepard looked down at the marking on her wrist. “No Shepard without Vakarian now, that’s for sure,” she murmured. “It’s perfect. And please, let me pay you?”

Kesedra shook her head emphatically. “No way. That’s my thanks for saving our asses. Buuuuut you could do me a favour?”

“I think I know what’s coming,” Shepard said, rolling her eyes. “Got your omni-tool ready?” Kesedra held her wrist out, hit a button and nodded. “I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favourite tattoo parlour on the Citadel!”


	21. Unexpected

"Hannah, what are you doing here? Not that it's not nice to see you, but..." Garrus yawned loudly, "...sorry about that, but it's very early in the morning and Allie's still asleep. Aren't you supposed to be on the Everest anyway?"

"Shore leave, Garrus! I brought margarita mix, some Blasto movies, and face masks. We are gonna have some GIRL time!" Hannah chirped, shoving a holdall into Garrus' arms and heading into the apartment. "I made sure I got dextro-friendly margaritas for you too, but I can't say the sheet masks would fit a turian profile..." She made her way over to the kitchen and turned the coffee maker on, rummaging in the cupboard for mugs. "How you holding up anyway, son-in-law?"

"Uh... is that the right title? We're not married yet, Hannah. But yeah, I'm good," Garrus said, absently scratching the back of his crest. "Plenty of Hierarchy business to handle here on the Citadel, so that keeps me out of trouble."

Hannah nodded, pouring out a mug of coffee the second the machine signalled it was ready. Like mother, like daughter, Garrus thought with a snort. "I notice you said 'yet' there, you got something you're not telling me, Vakarian?"

Garrus' clutch on the rear admiral's holdall tightened just a fraction. "No, not especially... I mean, I'm still getting my head around a lot of human cultural norms. You think living on the Citadel for most of my adult life would have accounted for that, but it's not until you actually date a human that it comes into things... and then there's the whole turian clan side of things and..." He sighed, put the holdall down on the breakfast bar and took a seat. "Hannah, I want nothing more than to take care of your daughter for the rest of our lives but figuring out how to do that formally without royally pissing off two different species has been... difficult." 

"Bet this wasn't a conversation you were expecting this morning, huh?" Hannah smiled, sitting down opposite him. "It's the half-asleepness, it makes you talk more." 

"And I bet that's what you were counting on, Rear Admiral," Garrus said, cocking his head knowingly. He looked down at his hands, his talons anxiously knotted together. "Too early in the morning for this kind of conversation anyway. I guess I'd better go wake your daughter up and let her know she's got a visitor."

Hannah raised an eyebrow, her coffee mug poised at her lips. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I know it's not a good idea," Garrus chuckled drily. He got up and strode over to the coffee machine, pouring a cup out to take upstairs. "This might help, though. I'll sort out breakfast for everyone once Allie's up." 

Hannah watched him take the stairs two at a time and blew on her steaming hot coffee. "That kid of mine doesn't know how good she's got it."


	22. Vacuum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: panic attacks. Fairly brief - if you want to skip that, head to the paragraph beginning "Shepard slowed her breathing..."

If Shepard focused on every single traumatic moment from her past, she’d end up like the living dead. The medication they’d put her on after waking up helped, mostly, and the nightmares were manageable. Travel outside the Citadel, however, had become something of an issue. 

Shepard has died twice before. After the Reapers, her broken body was found in the rubble of the Crucible, but she’d held on for days, her heart stopping for just a moment when she was found. But out there in the black, when the Normandy was destroyed and her suit was breached, and she choked to death in the vacuum… 

Cerberus had done their best to quash her fears after they brought her back. And being on active duty helped, in a way. Shepard had been born a soldier, was Alliance through and through — all she knew was war. She was good at war. She wasn’t good at taking a back seat. 

Gasping for air, she traced the tattoo on her wrist, now healed, and willed her body to return to something resembling calm. She kept her gaze firmly on the ground, resolutely refusing to look up at the stars. “For fuck’s sake, Allison, you’re supposed to be going to your friend’s wedding in a few weeks. That involves space travel, but you grew up on a fucking cruiser, and you served all your life in space, so why are you so scared now?” she grumbled to herself. 

The balcony door slid open behind her and a pair of spindly, strong arms wrapped themselves gently around her shoulders. “Honey, it’s okay. Just breathe with me, nice and slow,” Garrus said, his subvocals rumbling soothingly. “That’s it, just like that…” 

Shepard slowed her breathing, matching it to Garrus’ soft, deep breaths, and felt some of the tension start to leave her muscles. She leaned her head back against his chest, listening for his steady heartbeat. “I’m terrified of leaving here. Isn’t that stupid? I’m so, so scared of getting back onto a ship and heading out into the black, even though that’s where I’ve spent most of my life.” She turned in Garrus’ arms, looking up into pale blue eyes. “Why does the thought of that send me spiralling into a panic attack?”

“Because you’ve been through more than any person in this galaxy. And it takes time to work through that, and process it, and come out on top. And Allie, honey,” he said, stroking her fiery red hair gently, “you are doing so well. It’s not stupid to have a few things you’re still scared of. It’s only been a year.” Garrus pulled Shepard in tight and she sank into his warmth. “I know these scars are devilishly attractive now, but I still don’t like anything flying near my face. Some kid throws a ball too close to me, and I can feel the panic coursing through my veins,” he murmured into her hair. “Because hey, it could be another rocket, and that one might actually kill me. And it’s stupid, because nobody’s going to fire a rocket at me in the middle of the Presidium, but we’ve lived through some shit, Allie. We’ve lived through more shit than anyone.”

“Eloquent as always, Vakarian,” Shepard laughed weakly, tightening her grip. “That’s why I keep you around, you know. The colourful language.”

“And my charm, and my dashing good looks, and the fact that I know how to make your particularly disgusting brand of levo coffee,” Garrus added, chuckling knowingly. “Gonna come back to bed?”

Shepard nodded, and let herself untangle from Garrus’ hold. “Lead the way, big guy.”


	23. Weddings

“I mean… what possessed Tali to choose _those_ dresses for her honormaids? Where in the Flotilla did she get the idea for that?”

“I heard it was some Earth thing… if that’s still an acceptable style on Earth, then I feel for those poor people, wow.”

Shepard gritted her teeth as she stood for photos with the bridal party. Normally, Tali had explained, a Fleet wedding wouldn’t have bridesmaids in the traditional Earth sense of the word, but they weren’t in the Fleet any more — they were on Rannoch, and therefore, the old rules no longer applied. Tali and Kal’Reegar were some of the first to be wed since Quarians had headed back to their ancestral homeland, and they were keen to start their own traditions. Shepard was honoured to stand by her friend on such a special day, but she wasn’t sure why Tali had decided to borrow one of the worst Earth traditions going.

It would still be some time before Quarians could remove their suits on-planet, but Tali was wearing a stunning white and gold dress that had been built around her existing suit. It had been embroidered with the utmost care, so when she moved in the light, it shone with hundreds of constellations, in honour of her time in the Fleet. She looked beautiful. For Tali, Shepard figured she could handle some snide comments about her voluminous orange puffball of a dress.

As she stood waiting for the next round of photos, she felt a familiar set of talons gently graze her shoulder. “How you holding up, honey?” She span around to meet Garrus, looking impeccable in his best dress armour, holding a glass of something extremely purple with a cocktail umbrella perched on top. “I found the bar for you,” he said, grinning as he handed it over. “Just a few more photos and you can get away with ditching the dress, I’m sure!”

Shepard took a sip of her drink. It tasted vaguely of blackcurrants with a hint of motor fuel. “Eh, it’s fine. I’ll live. You can shred it off me later.” She nodded over to Tali, surrounded by a gaggle of Quarian children who were begging her to throw the bouquet at them. “Anything’s worth it for our Tali.” She hesitantly had another drink. “Fuck, that’s strong. Did Grunt mix this?”

Garrus shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and ending up strictly on guilt. “Yeaaaaaaah, about that…” He glanced over to the right. Following his gaze, Shepard peered around to see Grunt clutching a bottle of ryncol, having a conversation with a floral sculpture. “He promised me there was no ryncol in this, but now I’m not so sure.” The conversation didn’t seem to be going well — Grunt gestured wildly and started gearing up for a headbutt. “I guess duty calls… I’ll be back soon!” Garrus said, running off in the direction of a very drunk and disorderly Krogan.

Photos of the happy couple were next, and as everyone milled away in search of food and entertainment, Tali glanced over at Shepard, giving her a little wave before grasping Kal’Reegar’s arm for the picture and beaming widely under her mask. Shepard smiled softly in return, raising her glass, and only thought about spilling her drink down that monstrous dress for a second before going to wrangle her youngest crew member into some semblance of sobriety.


	24. Xenobiological Differences

After spending the last few years amongst a mostly human crew, and with a human partner, Garrus thought he would be used to most human things by now. Shepard’s hair, however, has remained as intriguing as the day he met her. In the hospital, they had shaved it all off — better to stitch up any damage — and her once shiny copper locks, that so often looked like fire on the battlefield, had grown back finer, lighter. “Garrus, did you seriously think that was my natural hair colour? That shade of red only comes out of a bottle,” she said one night as he raked his talons gently through the fuzzy regrowth. “When it grows back, I can always dye it back that way if you want?” He had shaken his head in protest; this new colour was more delicate, more suited to a peacetime Shepard. She had described it as ‘strawberry blonde’, which didn’t match up what he knew of Earth fruits — strawberries were _very_ red — but it was beautiful. Instead, when it finally grew down to Shepard’s shoulders, he spent evenings plaiting it into elaborate styles while they watched terrible action vids.

For her part, Shepard hadn’t known what to expect when Garrus moved from friend to lover. It took a while for her to figure out what it was that had attracted her to him in the first place. She figured it must have been something more to do with his personality, but now, the thought of broad shoulders and a tiny waist, sharp talons that could mark her skin, and the rumble of subvocals was enough to turn her legs to jelly. But on quiet mornings, she loved to cradle Garrus’ head against her chest and gently stroke his fringe before they got on with the day. It wasn’t quite the same as hair, but the feel of plates beneath her fingertips felt comforting. Like home.


	25. Yearning

When Shepard felt more comfortable with extended travel, they took the first ship they could to Tuchanka to start the tour of their friends’ homeworlds in earnest. Wrex had made Shepard promise that he’d be first, told her that Grunt was missing her too much (to which Grunt responded with a poorly worded, definitely drunken email as to how he was perfectly fine “baskibhf in gloei3 woth tons of ryncoLL!!!” after the war and he wasn’t bored at all), and said that she had better be ready to babysit.

When Wrex said babysit, Garrus hadn’t considered that meant being assaulted by a horde of Krogan babies who wanted to climb up and over every part of his body.

“Ha! The whelps like you, Shep,” Wrex boomed as he scooped a stumbling toddler up and put it to rest on his hump. “They even like the bird. We might have to do something about that…”

Shepard, who was also covered in babies, laughed gently. “Who would have thought?” she said with a grin. “Sounds like a bad joke, doesn’t it? A krogan, a human and a turian walk into a creche…” One of the smaller females was sat in her lap, and put their arms up to be cuddled. Shepard lifted her into her arms, rocking her gently. The baby yawned and snuggled closer to Shepard’s chest, drifting off to sleep.

They had joked about kids before the final battle. Seeing Shepard, surrounded by adoring kids, Garrus felt a lump in his throat unlike anything he’d ever felt before. She glanced up at him for a second, the biggest, warmest smile lighting up her scarred face, and he knew what was coming next. _Dammit,_ he thought, chuckling softly to himself. _Looks like we’re in for ten after all._


	26. Zoe

“Fuck, I don’t ever want to do that again. Seriously, that was almost as bad as crawling out of the Citadel wreckage after the last Reaper battle,” Shepard sighed, sinking further down into the pillows surrounding her. Garrus raised a forehead plate in amusement, and cocked his head in the direction of the crib next to the bed. “I said almost, didn’t I?” 

“Our daughter is only hours old, and you’re already bringing out the swearwords in front of her. She’s never going to have a normal childhood,” Garrus chuckled. He peered into the crib, and it felt as if his heart might burst with joy. 

“What are we going to call her, Gare? Something human, something turian, or something a little of both?” Shepard leaned over towards the crib and picked the baby up, rocking her gently in her arms. “You know me, never one for tradition.”

Garrus shrugged, pulling Shepard and their daughter closer to his side. “It’s your call, Commander. After all, you did all the hard work. I just stood there and looked good.” He touched his forehead to Shepard’s, idly stroking the baby’s arm gently. “What about Hannah, after your mom?”

Shepard pulled a face. “Really, no. I love my mom, but no. I don’t know, I always kinda liked Zoe. It means ‘life’.” She smiled softly, passing the baby to Garrus. He held her as though she were glass, ready to crack and crumble away within his grip. “Sweetie, she’s not going to break. Just… support her head like that, we’re floppier than you are.” 

He adjusted his grip as she began to stir, big blue eyes blinking up at him as if he was the most important person in the world. “Yeah, okay,” he said, rocking her steadily. “Zoe it is.”


End file.
